


five times peter went through his problems alone, and the one time he didn’t have to

by kurtelxzabethh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Endgame, Awkwardness, Bisexual Peter Parker, Broken Bones, Coming Out, First Crush, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Love, M/M, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Sad, Sexual Abuse, Thanos (Marvel) Dies, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony lives, Whump, after coming back from the second snap, after the dusting, five times/one time, grossness, i mean just read the tags, peter parker is a dumb stupid idiot !!, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 16:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20118238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurtelxzabethh/pseuds/kurtelxzabethh
Summary: five times peter parker goes through his problems alone, and the one time he doesn’t.aka peter parker is a big dumb disaster of a man and should be protected !!!!((read tags!))





	1. the chronicles of liz allen

**Author's Note:**

> i made this in the span of two whole days so that’s exciting !! 
> 
> it gets a bit graphic so i would highly recommend reading the tags and seeing if any of it will trigger u at all ! 
> 
> also some of the italics are messed up in various parts of the story — don’t mind that too much, i’m kind of a big dummy and i don’t really want to go back through the whole thing and fix it all so sdjdkdj
> 
> (i do not condone doing anything he does in this story be warned pls lmao)
> 
> ((also dang look at me posting the whole thing at once i’m just a god, no biggie 😔😔))
> 
> tumblr: olrazzzledazzzle 
> 
> enjoy !! ❤️❤️

Peter sat silently on his bed.

God, was he _seriously_ contemplating doing this?

It was well past two in the morning, and Peter just couldn’t get to sleep for the life of him. He’d been tossing and turning since eleven thirty, and he still felt just as much awake as he had three hours ago. Try as he might to just shut it all up, his mind was everywhere — schoolwork, his friends, Aunt May, Mister Stark, Spider-Man, the Internship…_Liz_. 

He hated this. He really, _really_ hated this. He hated being a teenager, _hated_ all of those stupid fluttery feelings he felt in his gut whenever she passed by him in the hall, or sent him one of those God-awfully-gorgeous, perfect smiles. 

Liz Allen, Peter decided, would probably be the death of him. 

And he hated it. 

So, at two thirty seven in the morning, Peter decided he’d had enough of this pathetic attempt at sleeping. He sat up in bed and (quietly) asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to turn his bedroom lights on. 

Peter (quietly!) leaned down beside the bed and snatched his backpack from the ground, grabbing his suit mask out of it. How should he even go about this? 

After a few agonizing moments of contemplation, Peter slipped the mask onto his face, adjusted it, and sat for a moment until Karen greeted him. 

“Good morning, Peter. It is very early in the morning — I am afraid if you go out patrolling, I will have to alert Mister Stark of your departure —”

“I’m not going out patrolling, and you don’t have to tell Mister Stark about anything right now!” Peter whisper-yelled, trying his best as to not wake anyone else up. It was two thirty, after all, and he was doing _this_, no less! 

Karen hesitated, but then spoke again. “Why are you wearing your mask then, Peter?” At the very least, Peter noted that she sounded much less concerned than before, if an A.I. could even _do_ that. 

God, Peter was so sleep deprived. He needed rest. 

“I need… I just need to talk for a while ‘cause I can’t really sleep. I figured — y’know, talking about it with you would help, maybe.” 

“Alright. I will not alert Mister Stark of your activity, as I do not see it as debilitating.”

“Thanks, Karen. I — uh, is this recording?”

Karen paused again. “Would you like me to save this conversation and relay it back to the database —”

“No — no! No, I mean — yes, record it, please, but don’t… don’t send it to S.I. or to Mister Stark or anything. Is there a way to just… just keep it here? Between me and you?”

“Of course, Peter. Whatever you wish. Temporarily turning off connections to Stark Industries’ database. Now you may go ahead and start.” 

“Okay…okay. I guess I don’t really know what I’m doing right now? Like, I know talking about how you feel in a diary helps lots of people with their problems, and let's face it — I’ve got a lot of them! — but I just couldn’t really bother with, like, getting a pencil and paper and physically writing shit down, you know? So this will have to be my next best thing, I guess. Please, _please_ just make sure this isn’t being sent to Mister Stark’s database or F.R.I.D.A.Y or anything. He’ll never hear or see of this, Karen. Got it?”

“Got it. Already done.” 

“Good. Honestly, I’m not even really sure if this is something I’ll stick with doing, or if it’ll benefit me at all, but something really exciting and a bit scary happened today, and I just…really wanted to talk about it somewhere ‘cause I literally can’t even sleep.”

“Go ahead, Peter. I’m listening.”

“So I was talking with a girl — Liz, Karen, you know about her! — at school today, and she told me about some meme that I’d never heard of, and then showed me a few pictures after practice, and I guess it just sort of felt like my stomach was going to explode right then and there? She’s never talked to me as casually as she did today, and I knew I liked her — God, I really, _really_ like her — but talking to her today felt like the easiest thing in the entire world, and that’s saying a lot, I think. She’s… gorgeous. She’s always wearing a pretty outfit and I notice her new clothes every day — and I know how weird that sounds, really, but it’s not like anybody’s here to judge or watch these, so whatever. She’s just… stunning.”

Peter couldn’t believe how easy it was to just… _talk_ about everything he’s feeling to someone right now (even if it’s not really a real person). He should do this more often! 

...Yeah, it was definitely the sleep deprivation getting to him, at this point. He’s never going to rewatch this. 

“I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. I hate having _feelings_, Karen, it _sucks_. You’re so lucky you’re a robot.” 

“Studies suggest talking through your problems and confronting the source of them are both effective methods of working through your troubles.” 

“I… don’t think I’ll ever tell her. I think I’ll just stay single forever and mope around about it because I hate feeling this way, but I think I’d hate being rejected even more. Never telling her means never getting rejected… am I right?” 

“In theory, yes, Peter, but that doesn’t mean you should keep your feelings to yourself forever. Someday you will find somebody.” 

“No thank you, Karen! Forever alone I will stay.”  
—  
Today, it’s well-past midnight. Mister Stark had left the bedroom a good fifteen minutes ago to say goodnight, but Peter wanted to make _absolute_ sure he wasn’t around to hear him start to talk, so a fifteen-minute wait period seemed like a pretty necessary precaution to take. 

Eventually, Peter shifted his blankets and bent down to grab his mask, sitting underneath the duvet at the end of his bed. He made sure, before he was “tucked in” (though, let’s be honest, he would never admit he still gets _tucked in_), that his mask would be easily accessible to create less noise. 

He needed to get this news out to _somebody_ before he lost his mind tonight. 

Peter leaned back against the headboard and slipped the mask on as soon as he’d grabbed it, hushing Karen immediately. 

“Hello, no I’m not going out patrolling, so you don’t need to ask,” said Peter hurriedly, anxious to just get _rid_ of this. “Remember a couple weeks ago, how I asked you to turn everything off so I could talk to you — privately? Yeah, I’m going to need you to do that again, please, Karen. I really need you!” 

“Slow down, Peter,” said Karen back, though she sounded so _normal_. Peter didn’t think he’d ever be normal again, not after what happened at school today. He’d never be able to stop the butterflies that had materialized at what he saw this morning. “Already done. What was it you wanted to talk about tonight?”

Peter could hardly contain his excitement, and launched into his story as soon as Karen finished talking. “So we’re sitting in the library for decathalon today, because the aud was being used by somebody else — whatever, not the point of the story — and Liz and I just happened to be sitting _right next to each other_! Karen, I could hardly even _look_ at anybody today — M.J. and Ned were just _laughing_ at me the whole hour and a half, and Liz kept kind of looking over at me, and she’d smile or start laughing or play footies — who even does that?! — or whisper me jokes and then — and then! — once decathlon was over and we were getting ready to leave, I’m all, like, ‘I’m finally being put out of my misery’, right? But _no_! She thought it would be funny to _blow a kiss at me_ when me and Ned were walking down the stairs to leave. Karen, Karen — she _blew me a kiss_?! Can you even _believe_ —”

Peter’s maybe even more breathless now than he was when it all actually happened, especially given after he cut himself off, he gulped in a big breath of air and held it, letting it out dramatically soon after. “I can’t even believe it.”

“It sounds like today was a big day, Peter.”

“The biggest! But I… I have no idea who to talk to. I can’t talk to Ned or M.J., ‘cause they’ll just laugh at me and — and not take me seriously at all, or they’ll probably tell Liz and leave me looking like — like.. I don’t know. I don’t know where I’m going with this — but I can’t tell May, ‘cause I’ll _never_ hear the end of it, and Mis’er Stark was off the table before he was even put _on_ the table, for so many reasons I can’t even count. What do I _do_, Karen?”

“It seems to me like she likes you as well, Peter, so I would go ahead and tell her how you feel. The worst that could happen is that she says no.”

Peter huffed, and then flopped down onto the duvet he was sitting on top of. Had his hands been fidgeting the whole time? How long had his heart been racing like this? 

Feelings _suck_. 

“No, the worst that could happen is that she says no and we never speak to each other again! Or Flash finds out and I never hear the end of it, giving him _another_ thing to tease me about? What about when everything at decathlon is awkward and I have to quit because I can’t _bear_ it anymore, and then I lose all of my intelligence because I’m not on decathlon anymore? I’m _not_ telling her, Karen.”__

_ _So much for this being a good thing that happened to him! Now all it was doing was stressing him out even more than it had been before. God. _ _

_ _“If Liz is truly someone who is worth your time, she will not dislike you upon finding this information out. In fact, many platonic friendships grow stronger after one party admits previous or current romantic feelings and the other party does not feel similarly. As I said before, all of her actions have exhibited a similar feeling of romanticity towards you as well — you mentioned many smiles and ‘footsies’ and jokes, and the most recent encounter with her. These are very obvious forms of flirting, which is an easy way to pin down romantic feelings in a sly or obscure way.” _ _

_ _“...Wow, Karen.” Peter paused, considering her words. “I still don’t… think it’s a good idea, though! What if it’s just a prank? Or she doesn’t _mean_ to flirt with me? Maybe her and somebody bet money on me or — or —”_ _

_ _“Peter, not only is that is highly unlikely, I would also recommend prohibiting yourself from thinking too deeply about this tonight and try to get some rest. You are able to analyse data better with a well-rested, productive mind. Goodnight.”_ _

_ _Peter didn’t say goodnight back. Instead, he took the mask off of his face and threw it onto the floor. God, Karen wasn’t having _any_ of this today. What was her problem?_ _

_ _Peter sat helplessly, alone, for hours, pondering the situation until his eyes felt like led, and they weighed too much to keep open any longer. This was horrible. _ _

_ _Why would _Liz Allen_ ever like _Peter Parker_, anyway? _ _

__ _Finally, he fell asleep.   
—  
“I’m just gonna say it, Karen, so this better be recording. _

_ _“I think I’m in love with her!”_ _

_ _Peter had slipped his mask on as soon as he opened the door of his small apartment and had made sure (yes, he did double and _triple_ check, thank you very much!) that May wasn’t home. He just _couldn’t_ hold it in any longer._ _

_ _“Hello to you too, Peter. What makes you say that?” _ _

_ _“Because I asked her to go to Homecoming this morning, and she _agreed_! I take it all back, I _love_ feelings, Karen, this is quite possibly the best day of my life!” _ _

_ _“You think that is worthy of saying you love her? I am not capable of feeling such an emotion, but I’d imagine it takes a lot to truly love somebody.”_ _

_ _“No, yeah, I definitely love her. She’s my _soulmate_, Karen, she actually agreed to go to a dance with me! Nobody else would even think twice about that, so she _has_ to be. She’s got to be my soulmate… _ _

_ _“Oh my God, Karen, how do you know if someone is your soulmate? Were we _meant_ for each other?!”_ _

_ _“I haven’t an idea, Peter, would you like me to pull up an internet search?” _ _

_ _“No, I — I’m fine, I think. God, I’m so happy! Thanks for listening to me, Karen, I — I really appreciate it. I love _you_, too, you know!”_ _

__ _“As I said, Peter, I’m not capable of feeling such a thing, but I’d imagine I would love you too, if I could.”   
—  
Weeks passed, and all Peter did was fall harder and harder for this girl. He’d asked a decent amount of time before the dance was actually being held, so that gave him ample time to flirt with her as much as he wanted to — after all, obviously this girl liked him — they were going to _homecoming_ together! _

_ _Peter could hardly contain his smiles whenever he thought about it. _ _

_ _Needless to say, up until the evening of, many a footsie games were played at decathlon, and a myriad of awkward, giddy smiles were shared between one another. Peter knew he had to hold on tight to Liz, because he had no idea when he’d get to experience this kind of attention from somebody else again. Maybe he never would._ _

_ _Which is why this was such a big deal!_ _

_ _Peter even managed to tell May about his date to homecoming— albeit hesitantly — and she’d helped him out as much as she could to prepare. He’d done it a bit off-the-cuff, though, so he wasn’t sure how much he’d regret it later. _ _

_ _Then… the night came to a close, and it went drastically different from how he’d expected it to. It ended with a hell of a lot more trauma than he’d hoped for it to have, a lot of tears and absolutely zero texts from his date. _ _

_ _He didn’t dare tell May about any of it, though. Not about how Liz was probably pissed off out of her mind, or about how she hadn’t texted him since the reception ended._ _

_ _He didn’t tell Ned and M.J. about what he’d done, either, because he knew they’d just be disappointed in him, after all. He blew his shot with the girl of his dreams. _ _

_ _Peter couldn’t even tell Mister Stark about anything that happened that evening — not the Vulture, not about how he felt sick to his stomach thinking about the shit he’d caused for New York, not about how he was Liz’s dad — after all, how could Peter even _be_ so unlucky?! — and certainly not about the building collapsing on him. _ _

_ _Karen probably wouldn’t have wanted to hear it, either. All she’d suggest was for him to ‘talk to someone, because statistics show that it’s better to talk about it than to keep it in’, blah, blah, _blah_. He couldn’t talk to anybody. Nobody would understand._ _

_ _And so, Peter was alone yet again._ _


	2. that... one test

Today was the big day. 

Today, alas, was not the day Peter was about to be recruited to the Avengers, or the day he would save the world, or the day he and May miraculously win the lottery and get to move into a big mansion and Peter could retire at the ripe old age of fifteen with all of his lifelong wealth.

No, no, none of that (as great as it all would be). Today, Peter got his second first midterms back. 

Peter woke up extra early to make sure he had enough time to mentally prepare for the day. He had six classes, which meant six agonizing hours, waiting to get each midterm back. He had history first period, which he _knew_ he aced — he was good at history, even if he sort of hated it. Second, chemistry and third, physics — those ones, he was a bit nervous for, but he knew he was just psyching myself out. He was good at his sciences. Fourth, P.E…

He didn’t want to talk about that one. 

Fifth, English — he was alright at English, too. He wouldn’t mind getting a bit of a lower mark on it than the others (mostly because he was really counting on Spanish and that was an easier language class, but that’s entirely beside the point). 

Sixth, and finally, Spanish. All it had been was a speech to present about his home life and some verbs and comprehensive reading at the end, and he’d nailed the speech (in his and Ned’s opinion, at least) and he thought he’d done pretty well on the other portions, too. 

All in all, Peter was… actually sort of _looking forward_ to getting his results back, which was why it’d be so _awful_ having to wait for every class to roll around. 

May fed him, packed his lunch and sent him out the door with a kiss on the forehead and a good luck hug. 

He wouldn’t need it, though. 

At least… that’s what he’d hoped for, anyway. 

The day had gone as follows; first, history, decent! He got a ninety-one on the test and he was pretty pleased. Then, chemistry and physics, even better! A ninety six and ninety five, respectively. Lunch. His day was certainly looking good already, and he was excited for the rest of his results so he could go home and brag to everybody about how good he’d done and feast on way too much takeout — 

Okay, okay, he was getting a bit ahead of himself. 

Fourth, phys. ed… could have gone better, but after all, he was a weak kid before Spider-Man, so he had to fake it a bit for it to be believable. Whatever, right? Besides, an eighty is still pretty decent. English had actually gone way better than Peter had expected, too! All in all, a ninety four average from all of the small bits they’d tested him on.

And then finally, Spanish.

Now, hear him out. He was now incredibly giddy about how well all of his other tests had gone, and he was anxious to get this last one (which he knew he’d done good on!) over with so he could go home and celebrate. 

Two forty-five rolled around, and their reading comprehension papers got passed back, and excitedly, Peter had flipped his over. 

A… a sixty percent? 

Then, the verb pages, as well as the speech rubric had gotten passed back, stapled together. 

Just… shrug it off, Peter, if you do well enough on the other two parts, it’ll even out this one bad grade, no problem. 

Except… that hadn’t happened at all. 

Peter got a forty-six percent on his verb portion, and a _fail_ with an asterisk on the private presentation page. That meant to see the prof after class. 

Peter felt like crying in the middle of this fucking class. 

Quickly, he flipped his papers over and nudged Ned, quipping about how he had no idea how he’d done so badly this time around, and how he had no idea why the hell this teacher wanted to see him after class. Hopefully he’d have a damn-good explanation. 

The minutes ticked by agonizingly, and Peter grew increasingly more and more anxious as the time to meet with his teacher drew closer and closer. 

Finally — good or bad, Peter didn’t know — the final bell rang, and he gave one last, nervous glance to Ned as his best friend left, leaving him behind to eventually face the music with his teacher... alone. 

“Peter Parker,” he said, his tone almost… accusatory. What the _fuck_ had the done? “Your midterm was… was incredibly disappointing, and I’m upset I got the quality of work from you that I did. Your comprehension was… not well done, your verb portion was almost all incorrect — I’m not sure how, Peter, because I know you’re usually a bright student — but the true tipping point was your presentation. I told you to tell me about your home life, not about a made-up story. I mean, you work closely with _Tony Stark_ and the Avengers and you travel with them often? Pardon my language, Parker, but that’s bullshit and we both know it. I want a new — _truthful_ — presentation redone for Wednesday at seven-thirty, before classes start. It’s that or you fail your Spanish midterm, and possibly the whole class. Good luck. Make sure not to lie to your profs next time you do a presentation about your home life, alright, Parker? Am I understood?” 

”Yes, of course, sir, but —”

God, he sounded pathetic. 

“But… what?” 

Peter really didn’t know how to say this, how to tell him that he actually _did_ work with Tony Stark and the Avengers often, and that he’s planning on going to a big-name college and that he lives with just his aunt who he loves to the moon and back… 

How did he explain this without digging himself even further into this fake, made-up hole? 

“I — I really _didn’t_ lie on my presentation, sir, I can… I can get Mister Stark to contact you, o — or —”

“Right, kid —”

Peter flinched. Only Tony could call him that.

“— the day Tony Stark talks to me will be a less likely day than me winning the lottery, Parker. I’m sorry to tell you this, but I can’t take a bullshit presentation, one that was supposed to be all factual, and grade it as if it’s real, because… Parker, I’ve been in this profession a long-ass time, and I know a bullshit project when I see one. Usually kids don’t try and get away with such… extravagance, though…”

“Can — can I maybe redo the comprehension portion, or the verbs? I — I’d like to know what I got wrong on those, as well.”

“Not a chance, kid —”

There it was again. Fuck. 

“— you get _one_ make-up portion, and you’re lucky you’re even getting that. No fucking — pardon — university would ever even give you a second glance if you decided to try and pull something like this, so you should be thanking me you’re even getting this opportunity to pull up your grade. Now, presentation done for Wednesday, seven-thirty. If you’re even a minute late, you’re taking the permanent zero. Am I clear?”

“C — crystal, sir. I apologize. It won’t happen ever again.” 

“Good. Now, out of my classroom. I believe you have a make-up assignment to start.” 

He couldn’t… he couldn’t even think to fight back.   
—  
The last fucking thing May and Tony would ever, _ever_ find out about was this failed test.

Not him and Liz or the building or anything — this. He will literally do whatever he can to take this to the grave with as little people knowing about it as possible.

Like… not only will they be _pissed off_ with him for _failing a midterm_ (!), that’d also be so insanely disappointing, as parental figures, to see your child growing up to be such a fucking _failure_. 

Seeing them disappointed in him was probably the worst feeling in the entire goddamn world. 

Yeah… this was going to the grave with him, and at this point, he wasn’t sure how soon that day would be coming.   
—  
Peter arrived to school at seven twenty-seven in the morning on Wednesday, his freshly-printed papers crumpled from the run, his hair already curling and sweaty (God, it’s too early for this!), completely out of breath, and under eyes almost completely blackened from next-to-no sleep the past two days, thanks to this project. 

If he doesn’t get a good grade on this redo, he’ll be pissed as hell that he had such a shitty morning, thanks to it. 

The teacher — some old, cranky guy who’s been working at Peter’s school as long as anybody can remember — was already sat at one of the desks when Peter arrived. He didn’t seem to be sympathetic — at all — to how Peter currently looked, and silently motioned to the projector, as if to get Peter to start as soon as possible.

Ten minutes and about a hundred disappointed looks later, Peter was finished his final presentation. He got an eighty — exactly — on it, with marks docked off for little eye contact, little confidence and many mispronounced, stuttered words, and what seemed to be such a threat as he exited the classroom. 

“By the way, I’d work double as hard as you have been if you even want a chance to pass this class, Parker. If you want the credit, prove it. Because it ain’t going to be coming easy to you anymore.” 

Jesus, like, how could he be so apathetic to Peter’s situation? He got accused of lying about an entire presentation, he did _awful_ on two other portions with no opportunity to redo them, he had to remake an _entire_ project in the span of a day and a half, and he had to get to school _early_?! 

This guy must be fucking _heartless_. 

There goes his title of ‘decently-chill-prof-who-usually-never-causes-any-issues’. 

The only thing the teacher _was_ impressed with was the fact that Peter didn’t seem to have lied this time around, which made Peter’s heart a bit sore, because he knew he obviously hadn’t been lying the first time! 

Whatever — _whatever_. A 62 percent average from the three parts of the midterm, thanks to the lies from the presentation, was _worlds_ better than a 36 percent average because he got a 0 percent on one portion and didn’t want to lie about his life. 

He just… couldn’t get over the fact that he’d been accused of lying. What if this had been a university prof? He probably would’ve gotten kicked out of university or gotten his scholarship revoked, thanks to an incident like this. 

It was complete bullshit! 

Peter debated going to guidance and reporting the teacher for accusing him of fibbing this presentation and flunking him on portions he didn’t get a chance to redo, but he figured that’d probably dig him a deeper hole, and would guidance believe him, either? 

Exactly. 

Still, though. 

Mister Stark and Aunt May would _never_ find out this happened. 

He couldn’t risk them finding out about how much of a fucking failure — a disappointment — he was. 

A sixty-two on a fucking midterm? 

Pathetic.   
—  
For as smart as Peter was, sometimes, he could prove to be the complete opposite of a kid genius. For example, how in the _hell_ could he have forgotten that both May and Tony had twenty four hour access to his grades online? 

After the flaming-dumpster-fire that was his Spanish midterm, he learned that his prof really must’ve had it in for him, because his next two Spanish tests were both docked off below sixties, and Peter’s grade dropped from a ninety two percent to a whopping _seventy four_. 

And, sure, hiding individual assignments could’ve been easy enough, had he really tried, but he figured they _probably_ wouldn’t be checking the online portals any time soon… 

Except they did. 

Well, actually May had, just on a whim because it had been a while, and then she (apparently) had a very heated call with Tony after her eyes almost fell out of her head from seeing a seventy four percent (she thought they had gotten it wrong at first, honestly) about how Peter must’ve been spending his time with him, and that now his grades were starting to suffer because he clearly just… wasn’t studying for one of his core subjects anymore. 

Tony, stunned, explained how Peter had been studying Spanish more often during lab time instead of chemistry or physics, because he claimed to have been suddenly having trouble with the class, but he explained, further, how he never questioned it even though, in hindsight, he probably should have. He figured it was a bit off-putting, because Peter usually passed all of his classes with flying colours and him having trouble with Spanish (Spanish, no less?! Easiest class at Midtown!) was mildly hard to believe, but what was there _really_ to worry about? Peter wasn’t perfect, obviously. He was allowed to have troubles sometimes, and as long as he was handling it somehow instead of losing track of it, Tony figured it was fine. And he _had_ seemed to be handling it, so to hear he was nose-diving with this class was concerning. 

When confronted about it by Tony and May (together, which was _terrifying_!), he lied — said he was just trying to focus better on his other classes right now — which was a fair enough fib, because he _was_ currently excelling in his Sciences, so he had a bit of proof to back up this false claim, especially because he knew he was secretly studying Spanish day and night and was very-well neglecting almost everything else — and that he kept a bit losing track of Spanish, blaming it the fact that it was at the very end of the day and, well, “you guys know my attention span sometimes isn’t the greatest, ‘specially ‘cause of how sensitive my ears and head and stuff get after a while of classes, right?”. 

Of course they took pity on him after he’d brought up his sensitivities, and immediately sympathized with how he felt. How could they not? He was great at his puppy-dog act, especially when it came to his sensory overload at school. 

Obviously he’d never actually confess, he’d _never_ tell them that he almost failed a midterm thanks to his teacher thinking his _real life_ was fake, was a lie, and that now his teacher just seems to be so damn biased against him, and that maybe his grade would probably keep declining if he didn’t talk to an adult about it. 

Because that was humiliating. 

And Peter Parker could humiliate himself as much as he wanted to at school, but when it came to May and Tony and the Avengers and Spider-Man? 

He had to be perfect. 

“I’ll be better, I promise — no, May, I don’t need a tutor! I don’t need help! I’ll study harder on it, I promise. I’ll talk to my teacher about getting my grade back up. Okay? I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will, honey. My strong boy. Hard to believe you’re growing up so quickly… I remember when you were just a teeny little baby, my little Peter, so grown up and strong now —”

“May —!”

“Hey, she’s right, Underoos. You’re… a pretty strong kid. Gaining independence, and all that jazz.” 

Yeah, yeah… no. They had no idea.


	3. cassie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for sexual abuse
> 
> (also i wrote a fic that goes much more in depth 10k about this issue called “until it is” quite a while ago !! if you enjoyed this chapter, taking a look at that one would be cool too! ! <3))

Peter saw red. 

No, it wasn’t a crime scene (yet) or a bouquet of roses delivered to his door.

Peter felt an anger he’d never seen before, and it truly felt like, if only for a second, his vision sparkled with bright red hues everywhere. 

It was anything less than beautiful. 

First, it started with the screaming. Someone — a lady, he assumed — was screaming from an apartment complex, blocks away from where Peter had previously been seated, upon a tall building, munching happily on a churro, watching the sun go to sleep once again. 

When he heard it — faint and nervous but so, so loud; it resonated deep in his eardrums, and he didn’t think he’d ever unhear the noise — he immediately jumped up and ask Karen what the hell the problem was and where to find it. 

“I believe it’s a girl and a boy together. Corner of forty-first avenue, first apartment complex on the edge, the sixth floor. There appears to be a premature assault which will likely end badly if you don’t arrive soon, Peter.” 

And it was here that Peter saw red. 

At first he didn’t know it was a rape case — this entirely isn’t him trying to diminish regular cases of assault, but having come from a childhood that was filled with blatant sexual assault, it was… it was more personal to him, he felt. Which is why he thought, maybe tonight, there’d be one person less to wake up the next morning, and… yeah, it certainly would be because of him. 

Peter swung and swung until his muscles burned and his chest was heaving with shallow breaths, but finally he arrived — and it seemed to be just in time, too. When Peter managed to break the window to the apartment room he heard the screaming from, he was met with a completely naked man and… and a young girl, nearly fully clothed — thank God… she could preserve at least a little bit of decency, still. 

But… this girl’s just a teenager. A kid. 

She probably didn’t — or shouldn’t — even know what sex _is_ yet, never mind rape and all of the trauma that comes with it. Peter hadn’t known what it all was until _years_ after his abuse stopped… 

God, she mustn’t have even been out of junior high yet. She probably still had recess to look forward to after lunch every day! 

Peter bet she was less than twelve or thirteen tops by the looks of her in her _sports bra_ — she was so young and small and fragile, she didn’t even need to wear a real one yet! — and colourfully patterned leggings, and his throat felt as if was going to creep up with sick any second now. 

“Get the fuck off of her!” Immediately, Peter was _pissed_, though rightfully so. Usually he didn’t break out his angry voice until the bad guy started to provoke him a bit, but now… 

Metaphorically, the nest was already very much rattled and the wasps were already very much upset and ready to kill. 

“We’re just — jus’ hav’n a bi’u’fun, Spi’er-Man,” the man slurred, and Peter was strongly considering finding out what _Instant Kill Mode_ actually did on this dusty, November night. “L’ve s’alone, man!”

As soon as Peter had seen him, he wanted to strangle him. Make sure he never saw the light of fucking day ever again. 

“I said,” Peter growled, stepping even closer to him, raising a closed fist in efforts to theaten him further, “Get the _fuck_ off of her before I actually fucking kill you!” 

“Peter, I would suggest you web him up, get the woman out of this situation and call the police before you end up doing something you will deeply regret.” 

“Call the cops, Karen,” he said, then stuck a hand out to push the young girl back. “You’ll be okay, alright? Get out of here, watch the glass. I need to deal with this.” 

Wordlessly, the young girl nodded and grabbed her shirt quickly, running out of the bedroom they were in. 

He could hear her faint cries on the way out. 

Peter was now left alone with the man — whom he was assuming was piss ass drunk or high (or both) out of his mind — and he had immediately webbed him up against the wall in order to stop himself from actually strangling him then and there with his (well, nearly) bare hands. God knows Peter still wasn’t the best at handling his strength yet.

Many times throughout the next ten or so minute wait for the cops to show up, Peter had to restrain himself from attacking this guy. 

God, why did this have to happen _tonight_? It had been such a good night for him, and he really hadn’t been planning on doing much after he got home. Maybe a bit of homework or a bit of a television show, but those were out of the question now.

Peter could just feel the sick coming back, and it was worse now than ever.  
—  
When the cops finally showed up, they immediately took the attacker into custody, meanwhile Peter slipped around them in order to find the young girl and attempt to console her.

God knows it’s hard enough to do that on your own, especially under these circumstances. 

She’d situated herself at the kitchen table, her shirt back and properly on, her head buried deep in her arms on the wooden surface. It broke his heart, the way she was violently hiccuping and shaking because of the harshness of her sobs — he didn’t know what to do, not really. 

“Are you alright?” 

That seemed to startle her, as she quickly jumped back, eyes wide. “I didn’t know where else to go —”

“No, no, you did the right thing! He’s already being taken away — you’re safe now, I promise,” said Peter, sighing as he tried to read her.

She looked even younger up close.

“What’s your name?” 

“Cassie.”

“That’s a beautiful name — I, uh — how old are you, again?” 

“I’m twelve and — and a half.” 

Peter nodded, then gave her a somber smile. This wrecked him, but… but she was more important right now. 

“Has… has this ever happened before?” 

Her answer was one Peter was expecting, but one that hit him harder than ever, nonetheless. 

He hopes that man rots wherever the fuck he’s taken. 

“Where’s your family?” Peter asked quietly, sitting down in the chair opposite hers at the table. “Mom, dad, an older sibling? Someone that we can call?”

“My mom is at work right now,” she sniffled quietly, hiccuping, “But that — that was my dad, back there. Mom doesn’t know… what he _does_. I don’t really know where my older brother went, but he doesn’t like being around him, either. That’s pro’lly why he’s gone.” 

This just kept getting worse and worse, and Peter, honestly, didn’t know what the fuck to do. 

As soon as he’d opened his mouth to respond, he heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway, followed by a gruff voice behind him. “He’s being taken down to the station for further questioning. I can guarantee you won’t have to deal with him again — neither of you will.” 

Peter turned around, face still covered by his mask, and nodded quickly. “Thank you. That — that was her father, sir.” 

The officer, solemn, nodded and turned his attention towards the young girl. Crouching down to her level sat upon the chair, he spoke, soft. “Has this happened to you before, ma’am?” 

All Cassie did was nod slowly, then burst into tears all over again. 

“I’m very sorry. I’m glad we have good citizens like you, Spider-Man, to look out for our community. We’ll bring you down to the local clinic and get some tests ran to make sure you’re still healthy. Sound good, ma’am? You’re safe now. Won’t be seeing him ever again.” 

“Okay,” she whispered. Peter couldn’t even imagine how difficult this must all be for her… 

Except he sort of could, perfectly. 

And he’d never wish this upon anybody. 

Cassie would probably _never_ get past this.  
—  
Peter didn’t sleep a wink that night after he’d gotten home. How could he? This girl — this little girl — was _repeatedly_… 

He could hardly even finish his thought, for God’s sake, it repulsed him so much… but that wasn’t all, either. 

It’s been a while since Peter’s actually _thought_ about Skip. In all fairness, it’s been… what, upwards of… six years or so? He’s had a crazy-amazing, busy life since everything had happened with him, so he was very lucky in the regard that he didn’t much think about it often anymore… 

But when he did? Oh, boy, _when he did…_

He just couldn’t seem to get the images out of his head — not Cassie’s, nor his own. He couldn’t dare go to Karen to talk about it, because he just _knew_ she’d go and tattle to Mister Stark and she’d tell him whatever he said, because who _wouldn’t_ find rape something to be concerned about? 

And, yet again, obviously Mister Stark was off the table of consideration of someone to talk to before he was even on it. 

He didn’t really want to go to May about it, because it’s been _years_ since he’d talked to her about Skip, since before Ben had even died, and the last time, she had insisted on him getting therapy for it which, even at a really young age, he knew _drained_ their bank accounts. Now, with just one income? 

She’d insist again, if he found out what had happened tonight, and who knows how much it’d cost today? 

Screw actual therapy, screw getting help… 

Ned and M.J. didn’t even know what had happened with him and Skip all of those years ago — it was one of the many things he kept from his very few friends — and he knew telling them about it would be something he’d immediately regret after the fact. 

So, Peter reached for his phone — just past six in the morning — and opened an incognito tab in Google. 

‘i need help’ 

‘online help’

‘online counsellor’

‘online therapist’

‘online sexual abuse therapist’ 

‘online sexual abuse hotline usa’ 

Then, Peter came across… some organization for sexual abuse victims, called R.A.I.N.N, amidst his last Google search, and he could almost feel bile rise up in his throat at the sight of the actual number. 

How was he considering this? 

This was absurd, all of it. 

Just thinking of calling someone — after all of the shit he’s been through, actually _telling_ someone he was feeling so badly, at this point — sounded absolutely delirious, even if it was anonymous. 

Yet still, he shakily opened his phone app and typed in the number. 

He couldn’t believe he was _actually_ about to go through with doing this. 

His finger hovered over the green phone icon, and he stopped. 

What would he even say to them? Oh God, would they be able to somehow track his phone number back to his house, back to his accounts online? Would they find out who he was, who he _really_ was? That he’s Spider-Man?! Wouldn’t they just find it absolutely hilarious that the guy underneath Spider-Man's spandex suit was just some little, teenage kid, who’d been broken and kicked down again and again and _again_ and that he seriously needed somebody to help him, even if he really didn’t want to admit it? Would they out him to the world, just like that? 

And just like that, somehow he’d pressed the button and three rings broke the silence of his bedroom. They picked up, and after he’d heard the receptionist greet him with a cheery voice, then pause, then call out and ask where he was, he hung up. 

Just like that. 

He hung up, just like that, because he _couldn’t do this_. 

_Nothing_ was fully anonymous these days, and with his luck, _somebody_ would end up finding out, whether it be May or Mister Stark (because they just had a knack for that, didn’t they? He learned the _hard_ way with his Spanish conundrum during midterms) or the receptionists or the entire fucking world, and he just knew all of his secrets would come out. 

He hung up, just like that, because he _couldn’t risk it_. 

And besides, did he _really_ need help _now_? He’s been to hell and back — maybe literally — and why should _this_ be his breaking point? He knew Skip still really affected him, even if it wasn’t often and it just always happened to come back and hurt him _all at once_, he couldn’t just… keep that up. To be a superhero, to be Spider-Man, he needed to have thick skin. He couldn’t see one case of sexual assault and plummet because it triggered him too much. None of the other Avengers did that, and none of the other Avengers were stupid _kids_ who couldn’t… couldn’t seem to get over something that happened years ago, something he’d previously _gotten help for_. He didn’t need more of it. 

He hung up, just like that, because he really _didn’t need help_. 

And so, yet again, alone Peter was. 

And none of it really seemed to be getting any easier.


	4. sticks and stones can break your bones, but so can being thrown at a dumpster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for yucky graphic bone breaking and rebreaking it (don’t ? try and doctor ur self after u broke a bone like this big dummy)

Okay, okay — Peter knows he knows better, but not to blame him, because it’s entirely not his fault that he’s gotten himself into the mess that is what he’s about to do right now. It honestly never is! If stupid robbers actually came to their senses instead of being _stupid_ and committing dumb crimes, Peter wouldn’t have to go out every night and risk his safety for the betterment of Queens. 

(The fact that Spider-Man would _sort of_ cease to exist without them was a different story, but was completely irrelevant to Peter’s _dumb_ situation right now.) 

Especially because he _technically_ wasn’t even supposed to be out patrolling tonight…

Okay, so sue him for disobeying the rules sometimes! May was at work and wouldn’t be home until the next afternoon, and Tony and Pepper were both in Tokyo doing God knows what for Stark Industries. 

Besides, a little rebellion was good for the soul!

At least, that’s what Peter had tried to tell himself as he slipped his Spider-Man suit on at midnight and swung out into the city.

“Hey, Karen!” He exclaimed, giddy. “Got any crime to fight tonight?”

“Hello, Peter. Your curfew is in one hour. Are you sure you would like to go patrolling tonight? If you are not home by one A.M., I will have to alert Boss.”

“I’ll be back in time, don’t worry!” 

“There is a mugging happening down the back alley of seventy-sixth avenue and one hundred seventy-sixth street.”

“Awesome, thanks, Karen! Let’s go!”  
—  
The mugging, in fact, was not very awesome.

It started off normal enough — the teenager was known for giving many sarcastic quips back to the perpetrator, in hopes of making him back off, but today… that plan did not go too well. 

Maybe Peter was off his game tonight, or maybe it was the fact that it was a mom and a kid together, trying to fight this band of big, huge guys off of them (he did successfully get them to flee the scene, hopefully unscathed, which was what he wanted), or maybe it was just because Peter stood almost _no_ chance against all of these people, but he got his ass _kicked_ tonight, and everything hurt, all the way from his head down to his toes. 

Especially his left leg, though. 

With one last, final blow to him — namely, quite literally _throwing_ him against the dumpster nearby and him sticking his leg out to try and soften the blow, Peter blacked out — from the impact or the pain or both, he really didn’t know — completely out cold and, now, completely alone (because why would they stay and hang around when the job was clearly done?) — in this sketchy back alleyway in the middle of the goddamn night, with nobody around to help him. 

Nobody. 

He was alone.   
—  
By this point, Peter’s known Tony for the better part of a year, and he’s been through a lot with him. Many a trip to the MedBay was basically an unwritten rule to having the Stark Internship and working with Tony, whether it be because one of them (almost always Peter) had gotten injured, or because Tony wanted to teach something to Peter that would be useful to know, should something happen on a mission and he needed to know what to do on his own.

Currently, Peter was incredibly — _incredibly_ thankful for the knowledge Tony decided to share with Peter in case of an emergency, because… 

Because holy _shit_, the pain in his leg felt like, well, a decent emergency to be concerned about. 

And, yeah, maybe he should just man up and call May or Tony and ask for some help, because shit, he could really use it, but he technically wasn’t even _supposed_ to have been patrolling last night, and he really wasn’t about to get in even more shit for breaking curfew and lying to his guardians, possibly risking getting to keep patrolling. 

So, he figured this was a Spider-Man only problem, not an Aunt May and Tony Stark problem. 

Besides, he’d… he’d be fine! He’d met Bruce Banner a handful of times outside of missions, and once he’d taught Peter how to set a broken bone — literally just for fun (because, “Doing it yourself could be super, _super_ dangerous,” which was immediately followed by a, “Don’t even think about it, kid.” from _guess who_...) — because Peter was curious about it. All Bruce had taught him, though, was what a doctor would do should it be a bad enough break to actually _need_ to be reset, and nothing further, because they wasn’t really anything a regular person would need to know, because _regular people went to the fucking doctors when they got hurt!_

But not Peter, apparently. 

By the time Peter had fully come to terms with the fact that — yep, his left leg was _definitely_ broken somewhere, hot tears were streaming down his face, and he had to try _extremely_ hard not to start screaming out of pain from where he was.

Sure, he had super, like, stupid-fast-healing-powers, but that did come with a small, small price — enhanced _everything_, A.K.A, enhanced pain. Everything that hurt only hurt ten times worse. 

Peter was slumped against a dumpster, his eyes now fully adjusted to the darkness of the night, and — God, had he become so lightheaded? 

He briefly remembered that lightheadedness was never a good sign, Bruce had told him, and that he probably needed to act quickly. 

“Peter, it is twelve fifty. I would suggest getting home before one so I do not have to alert Boss of your activity.” 

“Shut up, Karen,” Peter hissed, “I’ll — I’ll be home, just shut up!”

Karen said nothing. Silently, she was tracking Peter’s vitals every second and quickly came to terms with the fact that he was getting worse and worse. 

By one, if he was not better, she would alert Boss. 

“Okay, Peter,” he said to himself, disregarding Karen already entirely, and then squeezed his eyes shut. He tried moving, tried to sit himself up so he could get to work (because if he waited too long, he knew his bones would heal wrong, and it’d be a pain in the ass to _re_set it all after the healing had already taken place), but even that sent shooting pains all across his body, and all he could do was sit back again, shaking violently and repressing nasty screams from coming out. 

“You can — hng, you can _do this_, Peter,” he grumbled to himself, making a bit of progress. By now, he was hunched over his own body, trying to examine the damage. Of course he couldn’t see shit because it was pitch dark out, so he scrambled for his phone — only a few inches away from his arm, thank _God_ — and flicked the flashlight on. 

He let out a small scream at the sight, and he felt dizzy once again. 

“Come _on_, Peter,” he grumbled, and hissed out as he clenched his phone between his teeth to have a steady view of what he was working on. Eventually, he’d moved both of his hands down to his leg and tried to touch it. 

Silently, he cursed himself out for being so shaky — it was fucking hard to pay attention with the little light he had moving around so much. 

“F’ck!” He grumbled, then spat the useless phone out, quickly clenching his teeth shut — God, he was completely frustrated by the stupid light moving around so much — and he hissed out in pain again. 

Try as he might, having no barrier between his teeth and trying to go about this procedure was _not_ happening, so he quickly whipped off his fabric mask and stuffed it between his teeth, as far back as it could possibly go. 

Better settled, he took a few deep breaths, willing himself not to let out worse sobs than he already was. He needed to do this, and _quick_. 

“C’m’n, ‘ter,” the teenager hissed through his clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. He was shaking and crying and so, so lightheaded, he didn’t even know how he was still awake — but he knew he had to get past that, had to set his leg back to normal so it could heal and so nobody else would learn he got caught out too fucking late.

He couldn’t risk it all. 

“L’t’s go, P’ter,” he said, grumbling through the fabric clenched tightly between his teeth, and then and again, and again, and again. It felt like a mantra, and at the moment, getting himself better, relying on these words, was all he had going for him right now. “L’t’s go, l’s go, l’s _go!_”

Peter didn’t know if the break had taken thirty seconds after that, or thirty minutes, or even three hours, but all he knew is that, eventually, he heard a disgusting, unmistakable _crack_, and then that he passed out, cold, just as the sun was rising. 

He’d done his job, and now he’d heal okay. He just needed to sleep it off, and then in the morning, he’d wake up and it would all be okay. 

Except it was definitely past one, definitely past curfew. 

It wouldn’t have all been okay. 

The tears he shed had no time to be wiped from his cheeks before he fell into unconsciousness, so there on his skin they sat, glistened, and then dried.   
—  
Tony didn’t know how many fucking times he’d tried calling this stupid, _stupid_ kid after he’d gotten Karen’s message about his vitals being _seriously_ concerning, but he knew it was too many to bother counting, and that every time he heard the damn voicemail, he grew more and more sick. 

“I don’t know where he _is_, Pepper,” Tony hissed, trying the number — and failing — once again. “He doesn’t have Karen activated anymore, so his mask must be fucking _off_, which, what if somebody sees him? What if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere with his suit on and his mask off? I — fuck, I can’t get ahold of him, and I have no idea what fucking hospital May works at because I can’t get ahold of her either —”

“Tony, listen to me,” Pepper grabbed onto her husband’s arms, quickly grabbing the phone from his hand. “You know Peter, you know him. I mean, what, his vitals were up and then they dropped? Vitals fluctuate all the time, and, y’know, how late was it? Twelve forty-five A.M? Tony, do you _know_ what, ahem, teenagers get up to in the middle of the night?” Pepper said with a short laugh. “He’s _fine_, Tony. Peter isn’t dumb enough to be out in his suit without a mask in the middle of the night, okay? Trust me.” 

Tony tried. God, he _really_ tried, wanted to trust his wife because, really, _when was Pepper Potts ever wrong_, but he couldn’t — he had a gut feeling it was worse than whatever she was insinuating (which… Tony figured he probably didn’t want to think about Peter doing anyway). Something was _wrong_ with him, wrong with _his_ kid, and he _needed to do something about it__.   
—  
It was at that moment that Tony knew he needed to get back home immediately. _

_ _He and Pepper had been scheduled to go back home a week later than Tony insisted, but he knew Pete couldn’t wait a fucking week, and he needed to get back home as soon as he possibly could. _ _

_ _With that, he bid Pepper goodbye, promised he’d be back as soon as he could, and left to fly home in his suit._ _

_ _He was scared shitless the whole few-hour flight down back to Queens. _ _

_ _Once he’d finally gotten back to New York, he’d quickly asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to scan Queens and find out where Peter actually was. _ _

_ _About ten seconds later, she’d figured it out, and, ding-ding, Iron Man was golden._ _

_ _Peter was going to be in for a real ass-whooping when Tony found him._ _

_ _Except… _ _

_ _Tony shuttered when F.R.I.D.A.Y told him that Peter was situated in a back alley, unconscious, and had been for hours. _ _

_ _He had a pulse, apparently though, which Tony was so grateful for. What would he have done if… _ _

_ __Never mind_. He just needed to find this _delinquent_ kid and make sure he was safe. _ _

_ _He found the alley with ease, and quickly landed, then ran to find Peter. _ _

_ _Now, don’t get Tony wrong — he’d seen his fair share of fucked up shit within his lifetime, but this? _ _

_ _This had to take the cake. _ _

_ _“Peter Benjamin Parker, you absolute fucking —”_ _

_ _And then he saw the blood. And the leg. _ _

_ _And then, subsequently, he saw Peter’s unmasked, pale face, with the fabric of it stuffed in his mouth. _ _

_ _His phone was cracked on the ground, the flashlight was shining up into the morning sun’s rays. _ _

_ _This looked like a fucking _crime scene_. _ _

_ _“F.R.I.D.A.Y, call Bruce. Get him to get some doctors to get room ready, and tell him he needs to be prepped for me and Peter to arrive. Then please, figure out May’s hospital, get her down to the MedBay. Tell Pepper that Peter’s hurt and that she might not hear from me for a while. She’ll have to reschedule our meetings today. I won’t be back to Tokyo.” _ _

_ _He couldn’t even believe how calm he sounded, how little he was outwardly freaking out. _ _

_ _That didn’t mean he wasn’t internally, though, as he crouched down to see what the fuck had gone on. _ _

_ _“Peter Parker,” he said, shaking the teenager’s body. Hesitantly, he reached for the mask stuffed in his mouth and threw it on the ground, not even bothering to care about the slobber that had come out of it. _ _

_ _He shook the kid once again, and then pleaded some more, and shook him, trying desperately not to let any tears fall, because he couldn’t lose Peter._ _

_ _Not to whatever this was, not _now_._ _

_ _He didn’t know what to do because he couldn’t fly Peter back unconscious — that’s so damn dangerous — so he collapsed next to the boy and rubbed at his cheek — red and swollen and definitely soaked with dried tears — pleading for him to respond._ _

_ _Tony didn’t exactly believe in God, but he couldn’t believe God would let this happen to his fucking kid._ _

_ _If God truly had plans for everybody, this shouldn’t have been his for Peter._ _

_ _It couldn’t be. _ _

_ _Eventually, Peter’s eyes fluttered open, and Tony gasped. _ _

_ _“Kid, kid, it’s Tony, you have to wake up, okay? Please wake up for me. I’m here now, came back all the way for you, you hear me? We’re going to go down to MedBay and we’re going to get whatever this is looked after, alright? Do you trust me, kid? You need to be awake for this, though, I can’t take you back if you go to sleep again. Stay awake for me. You’ll be alright, Pete. Let’s — let’s go.” _ _

_ _Throughout Tony’s speech, he’d already worked on maneuvering Peter so he could hold him tightly and get back to the MedBay safely, but Peter hadn’t said anything. Only grunts of pain and hisses at Tony to try and get him to stop touching his leg, to stop hurting him, but it wasn’t working. _ _

__ _He fell back asleep on the ride home.   
—  
Thanks to Peter’s not-so-handy doctoring skills done on himself (God, he was so stupid sometimes!), the surgery needed took at least double the amount of time it would’ve had he just called someone to help him in the first place. _

_ _Tony and May… they were out of their minds._ _

_ _Certainly not as much as Peter had been, though. _ _

_ _This stupid, stupid kid. _ _

_ _How could he have thought that was even a bit okay to do? God. _ _

_ _God, God, God. _ _

_ _Tony hoped God would help, but deep down, he knew He wouldn’t. This had happened to Peter, after all, their child, so why would He help now? _ _

_ _The anaesthesia wore off quickly, and before they knew it, he was being transferred down into the I.C.U waiting room. _ _

_ _The first time he opened his eyes post-operation, he saw May and Tony, and he knew God really must’ve had it out for him today, because if the pain and the break hadn’t killed him…_ _

_ _Oh boy, would _they_._ _


	5. peters a disaster bi, and what about it?

If Peter was being well and truly honest, he didn’t quite know what his fascination for this certain display case in the hallway at school was for. 

It was a big, glass-enclosed bulletin board with black paper behind it, in between rooms one fourteen and one sixteen down one of the main aisles of Midtown. 

He passed by it multiple times a day as he went from class to class, but every single goddamn time, it seemed to catch his eye, unlike the one — the cheerleading case that displayed the team’s trophies and accomplishments — right across the hall, mirroring it. 

It was bright and colourful and pretty, and it read, in bold, bubble letters, ‘MTGSA’.

Midtown Tech, Gender and Sexuality Alliance. 

Ever since last year when Peter first started attending this high school, he’s looked at it probably a thousand times now. He has the rainbow ombres of letters memorized in his brain, and he knows exactly which flags the display proudly showcased. 

Only once or twice had he actually stopped to think about the fact that it’s maybe a bit suspicious that he found this thing so interesting.

Then, at one of Mister Stark’s big-name galas, it all seemed to click into place.   
—  
Peter had only been invited to one of Tony’s galas before, mostly because Peter had begged and begged until Tony had finally let him go. He had a blast, of course, because it was one of the first times the media had really ever seen him out and about with Tony Stark outside of his suit, so, naturally, they had been really quite curious about him.

By now, though, almost six months later, he wasn’t nearly as interesting as he used to be to the press, and him and Tony going out together wasn’t too notable by this point.

Because of this, Tony had once again caved and let Peter join him to be his plus one. 

Coincidentally, one of Tony’s biggest rivals also happened to be attending the same gala, none other than Norman Osborn, with his plus one who, too, happened to be his teenage son — Harry. 

And, by God, Peter couldn’t believe Mister Stark would keep it from him that his rival had a son his age — and _cute_! 

“Mis’er Stark?” Peter had whispered, right when he had seen Norman and Harry walk into the venue, side by side. “Is that Norman and Harry?” He asked, glancing over in their general direction. 

He couldn’t make this obvious, though. He couldn’t.

“Sure is,” Tony all but snarled and rolled his eyes at the mention of Norman’s name. Peter felt a glimpse of… of excitement rise in his stomach, at how risky this all seemed to be, and then quickly tried to push it back down, back down. 

No, Peter, no, he definitely could _not_ think about how cute Harry was, and about how _iconic_ it would be if they somehow got together, all Romeo-and-Juliet like. Two rival companies, separated by years and years of hatred, but their kids both falling in love and having to hide it, like some sort of bad-ass secret… 

“Peter?” 

“Oh — oh, huh?” 

“You… alright, there? You look a bit… y’know. Out of it?” 

“All good here, Mister Stark! Uh,” he paused, flushing, “Do you, by any chance, know how old he is? Is he my age?” 

Tony looked over at Peter, trying to analyze his face, but to no avail. “Yes, why?” 

“Oh — oh, how old?”

Tony sighed. God, this kid was so suspicious sometimes. “I don’t know, I don’t keep track of Norman Osborn’s kid’s ages. I’m guessing sixteen or seventeen, no older than. Why?” 

“Just curious. Would — uh, would you hate me if I talked to him?”

“A little bit, maybe,” Tony joked, and then softened at how Peter immediately deflated. “I’m kidding. Have fun, knock your socks off. Just —”

God, this kid was such an enigma. Why the hell was he so excited to go talk to this random kid? 

If only Tony knew.

Peter was already leapt out of his chair, grinning like a fool when Tony reached out and grabbed his arm. “What?”

“Don’t talk to Norman, don’t mention me or S.I. and please, try not to say anything that’ll get you or I arrested. Got it?”

“Got it, sir!” 

And he was off.  
—  
Peter didn’t exactly know what made him so confident in the moments leading up to approaching this boy, but as soon as he’d gotten within a decent radius of him, he immediately faltered. He couldn’t do this! 

Like… yeah, sure, _maybe_ he’d found a few boys cute before, but nothing to the extent of this, and nothing ever so _intensely_, especially given the amount of time he’d seen Harry for. 

Still, though — he wasn’t a coward — he was Spider-Man, and he could go talk to a cute boy. 

He’d be fine. 

Harry stood a few feet away from his father, looking, honestly, rather bored. Peter had no idea how he could be unenthused by the excitement that these galas held, and then he mentally kicked himself, because Harry wasn’t nearly as sheltered as Peter had been, and he’d probably attended a million of these in his lifetime. 

How had Peter never noticed how attractive he was? Goodness gracious, he was even cuter up close. 

“H — hey, hi!” Peter said quickly, just after approaching the boy. He, admittedly, was shaking and he could feel his heart beating rather fast, and —

Fuck. This was how he used to feel whenever he saw Liz around school. 

“Hey?” Harry had said, turning around on his heel. He had a puzzled expression on his face, and Peter, immediately, thought he’d completely fucking blown it already! Already getting ready to walk away and trying to think up ways to repress this situation, Harry’s face then twisted into a much different, much more positive expression.

Fuck, _thank God_ he didn’t think Peter was a complete creep. 

“You’re Tony Stark’s intern, right?” 

Just like that, boy, Peter’s heart skipped a few beats, because _damn_! He knew who Peter was! That’s… that’s incredible! 

“Uh huh, you’re Norman Osborn’s kid, yeah?” 

Harry nodded quickly, a smile rapidly growing on his face. 

“I’ve heard your name around — uh… Peter, right? Parker?”

Peter’s heart was doing _flips_. 

“Yeah, yes! Harry, yeah?” 

“Mhm! You’re kind of a genius, honestly. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to meet you, what with… y’know?”

“No, yeah, I totally get what you mean. But — uh, genius? Not… not really.” Peter was already flushed, and he could feel his face heating up worse by the second. He wouldn’t be surprised if the tips of his ears were beet-red yet. 

“You are! You help Tony Stark with a bunch of stuff, you’ve got to be pretty damn smart to do that. I’m kind of glad I’ve met you, actually! You’re… really cute.” 

Peter swore he would have fainted on the spot, but he knew he had to keep his composure. 

This really, really cute boy did _not_ just call him cute. 

Damn, Parker! 

“I — you too?”

“Thanks,” Harry smiled, chuckling a bit. “Are you…?” 

“Huh?”

“Like, gay? Bi?” 

Peter paused. Wow — big question right off the bat, he supposed, but…

“I’m — bi, I think — but don’t tell anybody?” 

“Cool, I’m gay myself, so… don’t have to worry too much, I guess. I told my dad a while ago, but he wasn’t… really that cool with it, so it’s always nice to meet people who get it, you know?” 

Peter sucked in a tiny breath, and then let it out, a small laugh coming with it. Wow. Had he really just done that? “I get it, yeah. I… haven’t told M- uh, Tony yet, though, so…”

“That’s cool too! It takes a bit to get used to — I’m… I’m guessing this is kind of new to you, judging by your reaction?” 

“I’d say so,” Peter flushed, “Like, thirty seconds new to me?” 

Harry suppressed a smile at Peter’s words, trying his hardest not to giggle. “Hey, that works too.”

Peter nodded, and then looked down to the ground. God, this was hands-down the weirdest, most exciting conversation he’s literally _ever_ had!

Oh, God, he can’t wait to tell Ned!

Except… 

He wasn’t really… _out_ to Ned. Or anybody. 

Shit. 

“Wanna ditch?” 

“Do I — what now?!” Peter sputtered, his head snapping back up. Did this cute boy — who he just confessed to that he liked boys (!!) — just ask him to ditch? _Together_?!

“Do you want to leave here? I mean, I can’t speak for you ‘cause I haven’t seen you at too many of these things, but I’ve been to about a kajillion, and I’m always looking for ways to piss my dad off. Sneaking out of here would be fun! Come on… I know of somewhere we can go, y’know? Alone?” 

Peter’s heart fluttered at Harry’s last few words, and he just couldn’t find it in him to say no.   
—  
To say tonight was one of the best nights of Peter’s life would be a ridiculously massive understatement. 

Like, he was just, _just_ fresh of sixteen years old, and he’d never kissed someone before, but tonight? 

He was a changed man! 

Harry was charming and beautiful and caring and slow and patient and God, he really seemed to know way, _way_ more than Peter did. After all, he’s known he’s liked boys for years, and Peter — admittedly — just a handful of hours. He’d work his way up. 

The next morning was when everything came crashing down on him.

His phone had been blown up with messages from Tony, asking him where the hell he was, and that if there was any sort of repeat of _last time_, that he would not hesitate to kill Peter himself. 

Peter couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, Tony had automatically know everything that had happened between them last night. Was one of the people standing around them secretly listening into their conversation the night before, reporting back to Tony everything Peter said? Had he found out he said he… 

That he had said he was _bi_? 

Peter’s heart dropped at the thought of that, and even worse when he thought about Tony probably finding out somehow that he and Harry had snuck off together and kissed — admittedly, quite a few times — instead of going back to or staying at the gala in the first place. 

That’s it — Tony definitely knew. 

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. 

Tony was never going to let him be an Avenger now. Not now that he a hundred percent knew, he was going to be kicked off the team in a heartbeat! 

Mind you, he wasn’t really _on_ the team right now, but he would never be offered a position to be part of the team again, not now that he knew Peter was queer.

Nobody wanted a queer superhero. 

People didn’t want… they didn’t want _guys like him_ to be saving the world alongside _real_ men. 

What was he going to say, to Tony, to Harry? He had gotten Harry’s phone number last night after they’d parted ways, and he promised he’d call as soon as he woke up, but now, after seeing all of Tony’s angry messages, he wasn’t so sure that could still ring true. 

Did he really _want_ to continue this? 

Should he have even said anything to Harry in the first place?

That was it. God, Tony _most definitely_ had spies all around when they’d been talking last night, and he should’ve just kept his mouth shut when he had the chance! 

Maybe… maybe he could lie, or deny it and say it had never happened. Maybe try and pass it off as a joke, to try and say he had only said it to please Harry and that he wasn’t actually being serious at all. 

Because maybe he wasn’t. Now that he thinks more about it, maybe… maybe he wasn’t bi at all. Maybe he’d just been swept off his feet and excited by _someone_ taking an interest in him, and he’d just leaped at the first opportunity he could since Liz.

Peter groaned, and then checked his phone once again.

He stared at Harry’s phone number.

Yeah, that was definitely not possible. He _definitely_ liked boys… goddamnit.

Then, he shimmied further down his headboard, leaning against the wall as his heart mimicked the action. He didn’t even know _what_ to feel anymore. 

So… so Tony definitely knew. That was established. 

And… Tony hated him, because what else would these angry messages have been for? 

Of course he knew, and of _course_ he’d be mad.

Why wouldn’t he be? He’d been affiliated with a _queer_ kid for over a year now, and this superhero he was trying to play was… was bisexual. 

God, that just couldn’t slide. 

Tony knew and he hated him and he’d never be able to work with the Avengers and he was going to absolutely die alone and Harry was off the table now and, fuck, there weren’t queer superhero’s, bevause that’s not a thing and who would want that to be a thing and he was totally and utterly alone and — 

And maybe if Peter had stopped and taken a breath, just one second to sort himself out, maybe he’d come to realize that none of that was true. 

He wasn’t alone.

Tony… he really didn’t know at all. All he wanted to know was if his _kid_ was alright last night, not who he was swapping spit with, for Christ’s sake. (Although… he did have his suspicions!) 

Little did Peter know, the dark, sheer loneliness he felt would soon be able to subside. 

If only he’d taken a second longer, to think. 

Eventually, he wouldn’t be alone.

But tonight… it was not that night. 

Tonight, he plummeted. 

And Harry never heard another word back.


	6. dust

“It’s… it’s been a while, huh?”

He looks no different. It’s been five fucking years, and he looks the exact same as he did as when he was sixteen bloody years old. 

“It has been, Peter. It has been forty-six days since those dusted have come back, and five years, four months and sixteen days since the Snap. I have not heard from you in five years, four months and six days.” 

Peter swallowed thickly. He knew that — he knew all of that way too damn well. “I know.”

“Will you be going patrolling tonight, Peter?”

“No, no… I guess I just want to talk to you, Karen, like how I used to? It’s so funny to me, I mean… I used to do this for talking about Liz, something so stupid and mundane — I mean, really? My first crush? I thought I was in love with her, for God’s sake — and look at all of the shit that’s happened since then. I literally _died_ and came back to life.” Peter sighed, slouching further down the headboard on the back of his bed. It feels like he hasn’t slept in days. 

“Is there anything in particular that has been bothering you, Peter? I can shut off my connections with the database for the time being, and you can talk through your issues with confidentiality.” 

Peter hesitated. “Please.” 

“No problem. Ready when you are, Boss.” 

Again, the teenager — emphasis on teenager — sat silently, breathing heavily. He didn’t even know _what_ was wrong, what he truly wanted to say about everything he was feeling right now. It didn’t know how to say any of it. There was all too much going on in his head, yet not enough words to get it all out with. 

“Karen, if I’m being honest, I don’t even know where to fucking _start_. I — I mean, I just feel so _alone_, even though I know almost four fucking _billion_ people went through the same thing I did. Like — for example, I’m supposed to have graduated three years ago! I should be in my junior year of _college_, not fucking high school, y’know? Y’know, some of the kids in my new classes were puny kids who I last saw being, like, eleven year old assholes in middle school, and now they’re learning the same shit I am. _How_ is that even fair?” 

“You mentioned that many other people went through the same experiences you did, Peter, maybe it would be beneficial to you to reach out and get help from one of them. There are already many people studying to become specialized therapists, specifically for those who came back from being dusted, and to teach them how to deal with that trauma. Would it help you to see a specialist?” 

Peter groaned. “I doubt it. Not many other people came right back into a fucking war zone, did they?” 

“You are correct, Peter, your situation was very specific and is difficult to navigate. Bear in mind that many people came back under negative circumstances, though, just like you, such as driving on the road or were very sick, in battles or other wars, et cetera. There were also others who came back into the same exact situation you did — other Avengers and friends, even.” 

“I know, Karen. And that sucks. It seriously sucks.” 

“It does, yes. It was very unfortunate the immediate final fatalities.” 

A quiet moment fell over the both of them. 

Then, “I’m just so… I don’t even _know_. I mean, there’s so much _shit_ that was going on before that’s all just… amplified to eleven, now. Like, nightmares fucking sucked before, but now? They’re a thousand times worse. I’m having trouble in school now, too, ‘cause it’s kind of hard to remember and be tested on things you learned _five years ago_, right? I don’t remember even a bit of Spanish! So… I guess fuck college and any hopes of finishing my A.P. classes, right? And everything with Liz and — oh, God, and Harry! Karen, I — I hadn’t come out to _anybody_ except him before being dusted, and now both of them are five years older than me and crushing on either of them — especially Harry — would be so seriously _weird_! How am I supposed to tell anybody what… what I _am_, now, like Aunt May and Ned and Mister Stark? I can’t tell any of them, not anymore. Five years of possible progress, of maybe hyping myself up to finally tell someone, just… down the fucking drain.”

Peter paused, breathing heavier. “Not to mention Morgan…”

“I’m sorry, Peter.” 

“See, Mister Stark and Miss Potts have Morgan now! I mean, I love her, I do, she’s everything to them, and to me… but they have a real _kid_ to look after, and that kid… she certainly isn’t me. I’m not a Stark, and maybe I could’ve fooled myself by thinking so before the Snap, but not… not anymore, not with Morgan around. She doesn’t need some stupid kid to take the spotlight from her in her own goddamn family! I’d be too selfish to do that, I couldn’t. Not to Morgan. 

“I — I just don’t belong anywhere anymore, Karen.” 

Peter choked, and tears welled in his eyes. 

He’d never said that out loud before, but it just felt so hollow and bitterly fitting to how he felt, deep down. Like being empty like this was his true destiny, and he’d never feel a place as his in the world again. 

People who came back could say they knew how he felt all they wanted, but did they really? 

They never would. Peter was alone, like always. Always alone. 

“I can hardly even bear to look at my _Spider-Man suit_ anymore, never mind considering going and patrolling or taking part in missions — there’s a reason it took me forty-six days to dig this thing out to talk to you. And what about fulfilling my trusted, _given_ spot in the _Avengers_! I mean, I know they all keep telling me to take my time and that they understand, but I’ve probably just disappointed them all with taking too long to recover, too, now, and then my position is probably going to be taken away because I’m not stable yet! Because I’m still just a _stupid kid_ with _stupid problems_ who has no place in the world and certainly has no business being in the _Avengers_ anymore, _especially_ because I’m bi, I mean… nobody wants a _queer superhero_, Karen, and — and why did I even deserve to come back? Maybe… maybe I just shouldn’t have at all. I have no reason to be here anymore… Karen, the world needs reliable heros, people who are mentally stable, able to actually… able to help them. I can’t do that. I can’t.” 

“If you continue speaking that way, I will have to alert Mister Stark.”

“Don’t. Don’t, Karen, he doesn’t need to be worrying about me now, not with everyone else.” 

“Did you know that Boss decided to attempt to find a solution because of _your_ dusting?”

By this point, there were hot tears streaming down Peter’s face, and he couldn’t help but shakily scrub at his eyes to get rid of them. 

“What the hell do you mean, Karen?” 

“It was _you_ who inspired him to find the solution to time travel, to save you. Had he not lost you, he would not have had any family to push him to do so. It was because of you that the world is whole and complete again. Does that not help you to feel better?”

“What — what do you mean by _family_? I’m not family to him, Karen. They _have a kid now_, and it’s certainly not me. Sometimes I feel like you don’t listen at all.”

“I’m well aware of Morgan’s existence, Peter. He came up with the idea _after_ she was born. Even if you are not blood-related, you still mean a great deal to him. Again, it is because of _you_ that the world is whole once again. He would not have tried if he had not lost you. You do have a place here, and it is with Mister Stark and his family, if nowhere else. They love you like you’re family, because you are.” 

“I don’t. That’s… I’m not — that’s _their family_, Karen. I can’t…” 

It was only this point that Peter had realized it was well-past four in the morning, and that Tony was standing at the entrance to Peter’s bedroom in the Tower, tears welled in his own eyes. He didn't have a single clue how long he’d been standing there, or how much he’d heard… 

Part of him wished Tony hadn’t heard anything, because the things he was feeling… they were _dark_, and he’d just said them all out loud. They were things he wanted to take to the grave…

And besides, he’s already gone through so much bullshit alone. What’s this on top of everything else? 

“Oh, kid…” 

Peter ripped the mask off of his face and stood up, throwing it down on the bed and running over to Tony, immediately wrapping his arms around the taller man. 

Fuck it. Fuck being alone. 

Peter couldn’t take it anymore — nobody should be alone. 

Nobody should have to go through this alone. Especially not Peter.

He didn’t have to be strong alone anymore. 

“I’m so —”

“Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry, Pete,” said Tony lowly, his hands already fully immersed in the long, messy curls on the back of Peter’s head. He really needed a haircut, Tony duly noted, but figured that’d be well beyond inappropriate to say right now. Later. “Don’t you dare.” 

“I didn’t mean to say that stuff,” whispered Peter, hiccuping into Tony’s chest. “I didn’t mean it.”

Except he did, or at least, he thought he did — thank God Tony wasn’t as stupid as Peter had hoped he was.

“You’ve always been a part of the family, Pete,” Tony muttered, “Since before Morgan was ever even here. I always… I talked to her about her brother when she was in Pepper’s stomach, about how much she’ll love you when she gets to meet you, because there was no way — I was never going to let her die without meeting you, Peter. She had to meet her brother. She had to meet the last member of our family someday.

“I mean, after she was born, once she could speak, she always went on and on about getting to meet her brother someday — you, kid. Obviously a two year old can’t understand death like we can, but it always broke my fucking heart, knowing there was a chance — a chance you guys _wouldn’t_ meet, and I had to ensure that didn’t happen. Maybe in one universe, you guys didn’t. My two worlds, in some universe, maybe, just never collided. Do you know how much that thought hurts me, kid? I couldn’t imagine… what if our universe had been that one?” 

Peter’s lips trembled, and he knew more tears were threatening to spill as Tony’s words drew to a close. Forty-six days not knowing this, he went. How could he have done this? 

How had he assumed he didn’t have a place here for forty-six fucking days? 

How delirious did he have to be to think he didn’t have a family anymore, because Morgan was still here? Tony had talked to her about him being her _brother_, while he was gone… 

“Tony —” choked Peter, and he didn’t know where to go afterwards. “I — I felt _so_ alone, Mister Stark, these last few weeks… I haven’t had a place, Tony…”

“Peter, you _have_. You have a place. A bedroom here, and the cabin, you’ve got Aunt May and your apartment and all of your weird little nerd friends who love you so much, you’ve got school, decathlon, you’ve — you’ve got _our family_. Me and Pep and Morgan, here. And I — uh, y’know, hate to say it — I do, but you’ve got a special place in my heart too, kid. You’re not alone here, got it? 

“I know I… I wasn’t dusted, I might not be the best of help, but half of the _world_ knows what you’ve been through.” 

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Peter sniffed, clearing his throat. “How… how much did you hear?”

“Enough, kid — more than enough, I think,” Tony half heartedly laughed. “Enough to tell you that you’re part of the Avengers for a reason, and that… that I’m so fucking glad you came back. I don’t know what I would’ve done if everyone came back but you.” 

“I’m sorry — I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’ve just been so _alone_, Tony, and I’ve been so, like, _trapped_, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“You need to know that there are people who are there for you to lean on. Everybody knows being dusted was incredibly traumatic, but there’s so many other things that come with it aside from being dusted itself. School, friends, families… it’s a lot to try and figure out alone, Pete, and you’re clearly having a lot of trouble readjusting. You need to talk to somebody.”

“I know,” Peter whispered, “But I’ve… I’ve never done that? I — I’ve always found that so hard, Tony, it’s so _hard_...”

Tony nodded, squeezing Peter just that much tighter. He couldn’t believe how long they’d been stood there, embraced together. Tony would stand here, Peter wrapped up tightly in his arms for a lifetime if it meant Peter getting the help he so clearly needed. “I know it is, I know, but you need it. For me, kid? For Morgan and Pep? And May? Ned? We all… we all want you better. I promise we do.”

“I want me better, too.” 

“Then it’s settled. We’ll figure it out, just like we always do, Pete. Sound… sound okay to you?”

“Uh huh,” Peter hiccuped, and then finally unwrapped himself from Tony’s embrace, stepping backwards to fully see him. He looked so hopeful. 

“Can I ask something?”

Again, Peter muttered out a small, “Uh huh,” and gave Tony a small smile. 

“Were you talking about Harry _Osborn_, earlier with Karen…?”

Peter felt his face flush, and he’d suddenly never been more glad that it was four thirty in the morning, because he was certain even the tips of his ears were probably bright red (probably totally giving the answer away, too!) from Tony’s nonchalant question. 

“Is… is that really necessary to know the answer to, Mis’er Stark…?” 

“Absolutely, yes. It’s him, isn’t it? You two met at the gala!”

The lack of response both made Tony burst out laughing and made him immediately reprimand the kid for falling for an Osborn. “It is! I can’t believe you’d fall for an Osborn. I — I can’t believe I would bring you to that event! I could’ve prevented this! How dare your sexual awakening be for the rivals? The _other team_, if you will? How… ironic.” 

“In all fairness, Mister Stark,” Peter exclaimed, letting out soft giggles at the jokes as Tony continued laughing himself, “He’s now, what, twenty-one, twenty-two? _Totally_ illegal. Don’t have to worry about that anymore. Besides, it… was just one night, when we snuck out of the gala. I’d never kissed anyone before!” 

“I can’t believe this little Spider-Baby is growing up so fast,” said Tony, but God, it made Peter’s heart hurt. Sure, it’s one of the most awkward things a teenager could hear — like, ever, but hearing his mentor acknowledging his maturity like that was so, _so_ nice to hear, considering he hadn’t aged for _five whole years_. He’d like to grow up, finally, if only a little bit. “Falling in love and all that jazz. And you kept it from me, too! What else do you _conveniently_ keep for me?” 

“You have no idea!” Peter exclaimed, nudging Tony softly. “I haven’t told you a lot, y’know! But — uh, I mean… keeping that from you wasn’t exactly the most convenient. I was just… sort of terrified. It’s scary. But I’m glad you know now, and I’m glad you’re… okay with it. I — thanks.” 

Tony paused, smiled at Peter, nodded. Continued as if it were nothing. “Well, you’d better get on it and catch me up with everything if you want me to believe you’re actually growing up that fast, kid. And I need, uh, ‘deets’, you and Harry, stat. Is that what you guys say nowadays?” 

Peter only smiled sheepishly, then dropped it. It was obvious there was more on his mind. “Deets? No way — that night goes with me to my grave!” He paused, but then spoke, much softer. “But I — I will. And… I mean it when I say, really, _thank you_, Tony. For… for everything. Even for this.” 

Tony waved a hand back, giving Peter a small, casual smile. “I know you do. Don’t mention it.” 

Peter belonged. He belonged here, with Tony, in this family. And it was hard, so hard, and it was dysfunctional at times, and sometimes he felt more alone than fathomable, but he belonged, and that was all that mattered.

He wasn’t alone. 

Not anymore.


End file.
